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Authors: Priscilla Royal
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God. Many might praise the potions of Sister Anne while Brother Beorn believed the infirmarian was a saint. Herbs would do no good were it not for the blessings of Sister Christina.
Just then, angry shouts destroyed his tranquil thoughts.
Beorn stopped, staring into the darkness, horrified that such rage had invaded priory grounds.
Two men stood in the gloom near the guest quarters, their shadowy arms gesturing wildly as they argued.
The lay brother quickly covered his ears and hurried away.
He dared not interfere and had no wish to listen to their quarrel. If he tried to intercede, he might have been caught in a fight and tainted with the sin of violence. How dare they insult God’s peace with their worldly argument and infect him with anger!
After gaining some distance from the scene, he was able to slow his pace and sooth his outrage by concluding that God would find a way to punish them. He would have dismissed this exchange of foul words if the matter had only been between two secular guests.
What troubled and frightened him was that one of the voices belonged to Prior Andrew.
Chapter Eleven
Thomas opened his eyes and stared at the pitched roof above his straw bed.
Dust motes drifted about in the fresh sunlight of the new day. From outside, he could hear the musical twittering of birds as they swooped to feast on the many summer insects. Before Father Eliduc’s arrival yesterday, he would have risen with innocent delight, rejoicing in God’s creations. This morning, despondency chained him to his mat.
“Why?” he groaned, unable to even face the altar of the invisible presence he served. “Have I not done this penance? Do I not honor my vows and seek atonement when I fail? Why must I suffer more than other men? Are their sins fewer? Surely the wickedness of some is even more loathsome!” He might have wept, but his melancholy was too great. Thomas turned over on his side, dug his fingers into the earth, and willed himself to lie utterly still.
As Anchoress Juliana once promised him, Thomas did learn, during these months as a hermit, that a little peace and the occasional revelation could be discovered in silence. Lying motionless and without thought, he felt an easing of the crushing weight on his heart and then enough strength to stand. Rising, he tightened the rope he wore around his robe and turned to face the altar.
Sunlight now warmed his back. The chirping birds sounded impatient, demanding that he get on with his day so their fowl-worthy labor might not be unduly disturbed by his traipsing about. Without giving voice to his prayers, he bowed his head for a few moments and then stepped out into the world.
A few feet from the hut, he hesitated, believing he had seen movement in the brush near the road. “Nute?” he called out.
There was no reply.
“You need not fear me. Ask your mistress, if you doubt it. She will confirm I am no monster and you have no cause to flee.”
Once again, there was no response.
He was saddened that Nute hid from him, while understanding all too well why the orphan child was wary. When he was even younger than this boy, Thomas’ own mother had died, and he had been left beset by dreadful fears, both in his waking hours and in his dreams.
“At least you have Signy to care for you, as I had my father’s cook,” he murmured. A woman with soft arms and a good heart could do much to soothe the inexpressible anguish of a child whose mother was buried in the earth.
Thomas shook off the thoughts. Since he was later in his rising, he suspected that the boy must have been waiting to see him depart before leaving the basket and jug. Not wanting to delay Nute any longer, the monk quickly turned toward the narrow path leading down to the pond.
The exercise of swimming should help rebalance his humors. Looking at the drying grass, he thought it a pity the earlier light rain had cooled the air so little.
Gently pushing branches aside on the descent, Thomas felt his
Just then, angry shouts destroyed his tranquil thoughts.
Beorn stopped, staring into the darkness, horrified that such rage had invaded priory grounds.
Two men stood in the gloom near the guest quarters, their shadowy arms gesturing wildly as they argued.
The lay brother quickly covered his ears and hurried away.
He dared not interfere and had no wish to listen to their quarrel. If he tried to intercede, he might have been caught in a fight and tainted with the sin of violence. How dare they insult God’s peace with their worldly argument and infect him with anger!
After gaining some distance from the scene, he was able to slow his pace and sooth his outrage by concluding that God would find a way to punish them. He would have dismissed this exchange of foul words if the matter had only been between two secular guests.
What troubled and frightened him was that one of the voices belonged to Prior Andrew.
Chapter Eleven
Thomas opened his eyes and stared at the pitched roof above his straw bed.
Dust motes drifted about in the fresh sunlight of the new day. From outside, he could hear the musical twittering of birds as they swooped to feast on the many summer insects. Before Father Eliduc’s arrival yesterday, he would have risen with innocent delight, rejoicing in God’s creations. This morning, despondency chained him to his mat.
“Why?” he groaned, unable to even face the altar of the invisible presence he served. “Have I not done this penance? Do I not honor my vows and seek atonement when I fail? Why must I suffer more than other men? Are their sins fewer? Surely the wickedness of some is even more loathsome!” He might have wept, but his melancholy was too great. Thomas turned over on his side, dug his fingers into the earth, and willed himself to lie utterly still.
As Anchoress Juliana once promised him, Thomas did learn, during these months as a hermit, that a little peace and the occasional revelation could be discovered in silence. Lying motionless and without thought, he felt an easing of the crushing weight on his heart and then enough strength to stand. Rising, he tightened the rope he wore around his robe and turned to face the altar.
Sunlight now warmed his back. The chirping birds sounded impatient, demanding that he get on with his day so their fowl-worthy labor might not be unduly disturbed by his traipsing about. Without giving voice to his prayers, he bowed his head for a few moments and then stepped out into the world.
A few feet from the hut, he hesitated, believing he had seen movement in the brush near the road. “Nute?” he called out.
There was no reply.
“You need not fear me. Ask your mistress, if you doubt it. She will confirm I am no monster and you have no cause to flee.”
Once again, there was no response.
He was saddened that Nute hid from him, while understanding all too well why the orphan child was wary. When he was even younger than this boy, Thomas’ own mother had died, and he had been left beset by dreadful fears, both in his waking hours and in his dreams.
“At least you have Signy to care for you, as I had my father’s cook,” he murmured. A woman with soft arms and a good heart could do much to soothe the inexpressible anguish of a child whose mother was buried in the earth.
Thomas shook off the thoughts. Since he was later in his rising, he suspected that the boy must have been waiting to see him depart before leaving the basket and jug. Not wanting to delay Nute any longer, the monk quickly turned toward the narrow path leading down to the pond.
The exercise of swimming should help rebalance his humors. Looking at the drying grass, he thought it a pity the earlier light rain had cooled the air so little.
Gently pushing branches aside on the descent, Thomas felt his
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